


Aged Finer Than Wine

by CanadianVoodooMagic



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Modern AU, Tooth Rotting Fluff, everyone lives au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 01:02:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10205312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianVoodooMagic/pseuds/CanadianVoodooMagic
Summary: It turned out that Alexander never truly was Achilles, and John never his Patroclus, and he was glad for it, glad that their story didn’t end in loss and tragedy, because he knew his heart never would have recovered from the failings of that myth. For John was his heel, his weakness and if someone were to cut him away he would fall.He was never Icarus, and John was not the sun that melted away his wings. No, he was the sun that he basked in to warm his bones and turn his skin to gold.





	

His back ached, and it wasn’t something he was unaccustomed to now, age would do that to anyone. But age was a number that Alexander never believed he’d see grow passed the twenties, and forty-five was rearing its head in a matter of months. But that wasn’t important, not today, because today he was celebrating the fact that John was forty-seven. Once upon a time, Alexander believed they would never last this long with one another, not to the point that their hair lined with salt and pepper, and to the age where Alexander’s hands shook a little bit too much when he tried to hold them out. But, this. This, he wouldn’t trade for the world.

Wouldn’t trade the mess of soft brown and silver tucked against his chest, the feeling of hot breath on his throat before the light came to intrude on them, the steady beat of a heart that pounded in time with his own. His arms tightened reflexively, hand lightly stroking up the column of his lover’s back, fingers tracing patterns and the words that littered his crowded thoughts. But the morning allowed for silence, for that semblance of calm before the storm. For the peace that fell upon him like a quilt, allowing him to bask in the beauty of the man he’d loved for years now.

There was no sign John was stirring yet, the light snore coming in form of a lullaby to Alexander, he wouldn’t dare wake him so early, not today. Even at his age, it was rare for the younger man to sleep in late, his body never allowing for idleness, the need to work, the need for his several cups of morning coffee a siren’s song threatening to pull him from his bed. His lips pressed into the golden strands, soft and giving way beneath the feather light pressure until chapped skin met skull. White bone protecting one of the most precious things on this earth in Alexander’s eyes.

The motion was enough to stir a sleepy hum from his companion, a shift in his posture that only pressed him closer, and Alexander was helpless to do anything but strengthen his embrace. The morning wouldn’t last long now. John never quite developed the ability of a deep sleep. His alertness, especially to Alexander, was a leftover trait of a war they’d fought, 'sleep where you can, but sleep lightly' ingrained in their wartorn DNA. John stayed longer than he did, enlisted for a few extra years, and did a second tour. Alexander did the bare minimum to pay his way through college. What choice did he have? Though, he wouldn’t give up that choice in a million years if it meant he wouldn’t have this. These quiet mornings with John pressed so firmly to his chest, with the reassurance that he was loved.

The stir completed into consciousness, and sharp blue eyes were soon gazing blearily at him, the smaller man’s grip loosened as a familiar pair of arms needed room to stretch, and the ability to be released from the confines of his embrace. “Happy birthday.” The low murmur of his voice was still scratchy from an entire night of disuse, the only true moments Alexander’s vocal chords ever had a break.  


A light chuckle bubbled from John’s lips, and the smile that pulled the smaller man’s, in turn, was easy, drawing lines of age into sharper angles.  


“Thanks.”  
“Of course, mon Coeur.”  


Alexander’s lips soon became occupied with littering his partner’s face in a series of kisses, from his brow to his temples, to his cheeks to his nose, and finally resting upon his lips after twenty or so small pecks.  


“Mi sol, whatever you desire today from me shall be yours.” He murmured, a smile breaking out across those same lips enough to show white bone aligned and straight.  


John had kissed him back sweetly, a series of small laughs breaking out at the tender assault.  


“Anything? My, Hamilton that is quite a lot to give promise to.”  
“Well, I trust you would not abuse me passed my desired limits.”  


Alexander’s quip was met with another sweet kiss before John’s warmth was departing from him, taking the shield of the covers away from his frame. It was the action that told the younger man that it was time to rise from their pillowed retreat and meet the day.

 _Carpe Diem_  


His hand trailed along the front of his lover’s bare chest, admiring the curves of muscles that never faded, even with their age. It was something he’d always admired about John, his broad leanness, and perfect angles, his flawless skin always tanning to a perfect yellow-gold.  
He was beautiful.

Admiration was a colour often painted on Alexander’s face around the other man, always watching him with love and affection in his star struck gaze. He knew it was a shared expression between them, that John often looked at him as if he hung the moon and stars by hand, as if he molded the world they lived in.

In the war, Alexander had often worded prose about how John was to be his Patroclus, in a way he was preparing himself for the other man leaving him in some way or shape, had always feared his reckless bravery would end with loss. Like it always had in Alexander's life. Had used the eloquent words and flowery metaphors to persuade smiles onto his illicit lover’s face. Despite the world’s openness to relationships like theirs there was enough stigma in a republican army to keep their glances and touches a secret confined to short letters, and brief embraces in the shadow of desert nights.

There had never been enough time then.

Never for these sleepy mornings, those hadn’t existed in the army, never for the lingering kisses and touches that delivered the sentiment loaded beneath. Instead, there had been searching and knowing glances, chairs sat too close and hands held together tightly beneath tables.

And Alexander had always moved as if he were on the edge of running out, his health never at it’s best, and death an old friend, he had rushed through his life with the same reckless abandon that John showed on the battlefield. They were a match made in a heaven Alexander never truly believed in despite the Sunday school teachings that his mother insisted on when he grew up in the Caribbean.

It turned out that Alexander never truly was Achilles, and John never his Patroclus, and he was glad for it, glad that their story didn’t end in loss and tragedy, because he knew his heart never would have recovered from the failings of that myth. For John was his heel, his weakness and if someone were to cut him away he would fall apart.  


He was never Icarus, and John was not the sun that melted away his wings. No, he was the sun that he basked in to warm his bones and turn his skin to gold. He was not the Pythias to his Damon, for they would never be apart. No, at five and forty Alexander was positive he would never lose the man who smiled so brightly at him now. Who promised to start the coffee and prepare them breakfast even though it was his own birthday. But, Alexander had always made the food a little too spicy for John’s morning tastes, the coffee too strong for he knew no other way to distribute the grounds into the filter.

The bed was cold with John’s absence so Alexander saw no further reason to stay in the confines of sheets, he tore himself away and found the nearest sweater to pull on. It was John’s. Most of them were, because Alexander never found the time to buy things other than suits for work, what was the point when John’s clothes were comfortable and available to him?

Bare feet padded to the kitchen, to once more find his other half, drawn to him almost as if magnetized. His face fits perfectly into the pocket between John’s shoulder blades, and his shorter arms wound around his middle to fold comfortably. The older man’s hands busied themselves with the coffee machine, the steady drip and heavy smell something Alexander loved nearly as much as the man he was pressed to now.

“Someone is affectionate this morning.”  
“Would you prefer if I wasn’t? It is your birthday after all.”  
“So you keep reminding me.”

Alexander placed a light kiss to John’s back, glad to find it bare, where he could properly enjoy the familiar scent and taste of his lover’s skin.

“Yeah, I do, because I’m not going to let you forget you still haven’t told me what you want from me today. I told you that I’m all yours.”  
“Aren’t you always?”  
“Yes, but today especially, I even told Washington I wouldn’t be coming into any meetings today.”  
“Wow. This must be a very serious day then.”  
“I’d say so.”  


The joke had the both of them laughing lightly, mostly at Alexander’s expense, the habits of his work had never ceased even in age, even when most senators pushed for retirement. But he still had more work to do. More change to make for this young country that had failed so many like him. There had to be.

“So?” Alexander prompted again as silence fell between them. It wasn’t an uncomfortable one, but Alexander never really enjoyed the quiet, his mind was far too busy to grant him the ability to revel in a lack of stimulation.

“Alright. Maybe we can go to dinner, but I don’t want anything extravagant, I’ve had enough of those.”  


John had been saying that for years, ever since he’d been in the army at the ripe age at eighteen, a service to this country under the guise of wanting to please his father, a senator like Alexander was now. What better to have in your campaign than the justice and goating of an oldest son in the military, fighting for the country whose’ government you served? But it was the times before that he meant, Alexander knew, but never asked. The years growing up in a rich family big on celebration and parties for other politicians to come and dote on the pretty women and share each others’ wives' souffles.  


It was a life he didn’t know until the last decade. Until after law school, after his internship with Washington and eventually his own rise to politics. He never ceased being uncomfortable in those rooms full of men that would look at him differently should they know the history beneath the expensive suits and classy accessories he wore. He was sure he wasn’t the only one though.

“Alright dinner, I can agree to that.” He replied, a smile on his lips as he once more littered gentle kisses against the smooth planes of John’s back. The caress needed to end as the other man began to cook breakfast, and Alexander took his usual seat at the table, paper laid before him because he was a traditionalist, and the printed word often appealed to him more than reading off of his laptop, especially when his glasses were still perched on the bridge of his strong nose.

Breakfast passed without ceremony, silent eating and shared looks of adoration. They were truly old now. The shower that followed breakfast was a soundtrack of small moans, interrupted only by the spray of the water on their bare skin. Satisfied smiles as they exited, perhaps not as clean as they could have been, but it was worth it. Happy Birthday, John.

The middle of the day was spent on the couch, bodies curled together on the cushions with blankets draped over their intertwined legs, a film playing on the TV that truly only held John’s attention, because Alexander’s mind was still swimming in a state of self-reflection and admiration of the way John’s long fingers curled around his own hand.

As the movie came to a close it was with shared kisses, and a remapping of hands on planes of still exposed skin, because John never put on a shirt. More so because Alexander had asked, and John had shook his head but conceded once he peppered kisses on the still damp skin that fell under the hair Alexander insisted he kept long, even though at times the other man complained it was unmanageable, but his lover liked something to hold onto in the throes of pleasure, and something to play with while they laid and watched films, or in those lovely moments so early in the morning.

But now John was pulling up from the couch, hovering over Alexander, and Alexander smiled up at him, eyes shining with that kittenish playfulness that never left him even with his small beard turned silver, and the lines of his face deepening so they were prominent even when his expression was soft and laid blank.

“We gotta get going or we’re going to miss our reservation.” John’s smile was blinding, and Alexander squirmed lightly, hand raising to rest, palm flat against the curve of John’s muscled chest.  


“Yeah? Well, what if I want to miss dinner and skip straight to dessert?” He asked, and John kissed him again.  
“As tempting as that sounds I’m still hungry.” He replied after pulling away, and Alexander pouted but didn’t really mean it, he rarely did.

The weight that shifted in the couch had the younger man sighing dramatically before he was getting up as well, tracking behind his partner to their shared bedroom where they would dress to the nines before leaving to the lavish restaurant Alexander insisted on, because it was John’s birthday, and it wasn’t some fancy party, but it was important enough to celebrate over a bottle of wine with a price tag that the old him would have scoffed at. But money had ceased being a problem after his first job as a lawyer, and now his bank account reflected the self-importance he had always felt.  


As ties were fastened and cufflinks secured, John and Alexander made the trek to the outside of their apartment building and hailed a cab to go into the city, the traffic as always was awful, because Manhattan was never not crowded, and Alexander Hamilton was never not late for a reservation so John always told him it was fifteen minutes earlier than it actually was. When Alexander found out, John made it thirty. He hadn’t caught on yet.

The hostess led them inside with an easy smile at Alexander, his name well-known at this point, as much as John’s and it was never something he would be used to, or cease to spark that sense of pride within himself. He’d come so far. They’d come so far.

His hand was once more in John’s, fingers intertwined, long and thin against broader and rough, though never ceasing to be nimble. Too many days spent handling delicate things like needles and surgery knives.

As they were seated, the white table cloth curled over their thighs, and it seemed like the first time they were apart the whole day, the table separating them no doubt one with polished wood, but it lay hidden under the white expanse and dark navy napkins wrapped tightly around fine silver. Alexander ordered the wine. It was John’s favorite, a red cabernet with the date older than them both, because the only thing that aged better than whiskey was wine, and the only thing that aged better than wine was John.

A smile broke out across Alexander’s lips as he leaned forward across the table, hand laying flat, palm up and inviting and John took it with a matching expression, brow quirking because Alexander had been wearing that expression all day, the soft one that caused his heart to flutter even after all these years.

Free hands found the stems of wine glasses, and the brims clinked before throats were taking down the liquid and Alexander grinned.

“Happy Birthday John.”

**Author's Note:**

> For my lovely Significant Other's birthday, a tooth rotting Lams fic.  
> You know the drill Kudos and Comments encourage me to write more gay stuff. So please hit me with that.


End file.
